He’s peed through every single pair of shorts he has.
He’s peed on me twice, so two skirts need washing too.
He’s left three puddles on carpet. I hauled out the Green Cleaner thingy as in this heat it’ll start to stink soon. So now the livingroom smells of wet wool.
He’s whined all night long – I don’t think he’s uttered one syllable that wasn’t whining.
Cameron hasn’t screamed at bedtime in forever. He’s stayed awake an hour and a half after bedtime, he’s cried for oatmeal and yogurt and milk and water and to go pee. But screaming? Nope. Until tonight. “PLAYYY! I need to play! NOOOOOO!”
I’m frustrated and I really need him to go to sleep. He needs to go to sleep. Desperately.
But I’m keeping my cool because I feel badly for him. Poor little guy is burning up with a fever that my arsenal of motrin, Tylenol, and a cool bath just aren’t touching. And of course he’s so attached to his fleece blanket that even though he’s sweating hot, he wants it over him and tucked in.
I’m gonna wait until he’s asleep, and gently remove it. Resisting kissing his hot cheek will be tough.
More laughter – I still don’t have my computer at work. Tomorrow. They say.
Cameron’s engaging in imaginative play. A curtain hold-back-strap (I don’t know what to call it) has been a crocodile that wants to sleep in Mommy’s pocket, a necklace, a belt, a seatbelt, a power cord. A book with a cutout front cover became a house with a window. Blocks have been different buildings, Vancouver, daycare, stools, supper, and kitty food.
There’s a picture of me that I don’t hate on facebook, posted by someone else.